I’m sitting in the Green Sage Coffee House & Cafe in Asheville, NC. Staring at me, on a plate next to some sweet potato French fries, is the future of Judaism.

I’m talking about the tempeh reuben.

Like the sandwich that came before, the tempeh reuben is two pieces of grilled rye bread, delicately holding a symphony of sauerkraut, thousand island dressing and Swiss cheese. The twist: instead of a pile of corned beef, this sandwich is filled with tempeh, an earthy, Indonesian export brought to us by the hippies.

The reuben, like many Jewish icons, is not exactly Jewish. Some sources say it came from Omaha, the least Jewish place in the world, and others claim proudly that it was a New York creation. Either way, the sandwich that would become a staple in “kosher style” delis is not even kosher. Meat and milk, simple as that. Yet, to many people, the reuben is a Jewish icon.

This is the first truly kosher reuben I have ever seen. No meat/milk issues here. Just some sliced, grilled, fermented soy goodness piled high with all the trimmings. And I realize, in a moment before my bracha (prayer) over my meal, that this culinary masterpiece is an edible example of what Judaism will be for my generation.

When the cooks made this sandwich, they weren’t interested in my level of kosher or my Jewish identity. They were interested in taking something that they liked (the reuben) and making it work in their vegetarian diet. But by accident, they took an unkosher symbol of the Jewish tradition, and they made it kosher. By looking forward into the future, they managed to connect me with the most traditional form of Jewish expression.

This, to me, is how Judaism will work in the future. Taking what you love, and spinning it in a way that may not seem Jewish, but actually turns out to be more Jewish than you can imagine. What is Jewish about tempeh? Everything! The Jewish connection to the Earth, to treating animals fairly, to innovation, to blessing our food and to the tradition of kashrut.

My argument is simple: these vegetarian, hippie, Buddha worshiping, coffee shop people got me to connect with a religious tradition that is older and farther removed from the lives of my generation that they can ever imagine. Who cares how they did it? At this moment, looking at this dripping sandwich, I have had a Jewish “a-ha!” moment that rivals anything I have had in most synagogues I have visited.

So thank you to the fine cooks, servers and baristas at Green Sage for making me feel more Jewish by screwing up a sandwich!

“I have been thinking a lot about Judaism, and I’m kind of pissed at it right now.”

This IM from my friend Sarah* was strangely startling. She had a stressful weekend, and she needed to relax. She smoked pot, turned off all her electronics, and it was “the most spiritual thing [she had] done in a long time.”

The best part came when Sarah told me she had a religious epiphany over fruit. “I ate an orange. I peeled the orange and realized that it was probably the closest to G-d a food can be, because it was so protected from the rest of the world. So I said a bracha (prayer) over it.”

In this weeks portion, we finish the book of Sh’mot, Exodus, and read the twin parshayot Vayakhel and Pekudei.
At the beginning, Moses reiterates the commandment to observe Shabbat, and then goes on to explain, in excruciating detail, the construction of the Mishkan, the Tabernacle, that is to be Hashem’s dwelling place with the Israelites as they travel. The question in this portion is what, in all of these details regarding the kind of blue, purple and red dyed wool, goat hair, animal skins, gold, silver, and copper, what can we learn from this, this mishegas? This craziness?

This is the questions I asked myself:
What does this have to do with me?

At the beginning of the portion, Moses asks the Israelites to donate these rich and precious materials to build G_d’s house, His Tabernacle, and to work to build the Sanctuary.
And what do the Jews do?
They give.
And give.
And give some more.
The Torah says:
“Every man and woman whose heart motivated them to bring for any of the work that Hashem had commanded to make, through Moses – the Children of Israel brought a free-willed offering to Hashem.”
They came and gave freely. Not only did they give, they worked, they sewed and built and labored.
In fact, they gave so much of their possessions and of themselves that Moses had to say, “Man and woman shall not do more work toward the gift for the Sanctuary”!
Moses told them to stop!
So what did I learn from this?
We are called to give, not as charity and not just money. Jews are called to give tzedakah, which means “righteousness” or “justice”. We are called to do right with ourselves and our resources.
So give.
Keep giving.
Not just of money, not just of gold and silver and goat skins.
We need to give and give until Moshe Rabbenu himself tells us “Enough!”